


of all my dreams you are the loveliest

by straightforwardly



Category: The Rose of Segunda (Visual Novel)
Genre: (Newly) Established Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Laughter During Sex, Post-Canon, References to Thorns of War Demo, Scholar Iolanthe di Parisi, Sibling Incest, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28193823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightforwardly/pseuds/straightforwardly
Summary: All her life, Iolanthe had read poems and odes to the glory of the ocean—to its sublime beauty, mercurious moods, and the enchanting, endless freedom it offered—yet outside of the rare boating trip on carefully crafted, shallow reservoirs, which hardly counted, she had never experienced it for herself.She understood that poetry now.Frederique and Iolanthe, crossing both borders and boundaries as they make their way towards a new life.
Relationships: Frederique di Parisi/Iolanthe di Parisi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	of all my dreams you are the loveliest

Their days at sea slipped on by. From what she gathered from listening in on the conversations around her, their journey proceeded precisely on course, yet it felt as though the ship flew with the wings of a fairy. All her life, Iolanthe had read poems and odes to the glory of the ocean—to its sublime beauty, mercurious moods, and the enchanting, endless freedom it offered—yet outside of the rare boating trip on carefully crafted, shallow reservoirs, which hardly counted, she’d never experienced it for herself. 

She understood that poetry now.

Frederique was in his element—she had never seen him so light. He spent his days running about the ship, getting in the way as often as not, yet still managing to charm the crew with his exuberance and cheer. In truth, she was hardly better. She didn’t race about as he did—well, mostly—but neither could she resist the draw of spending the daylight hours above deck with him, breathing in the crisp, salty air and feeling the sun and breeze against her face.

They were never parted long. Frederique raced about, laughing, cheering, showing a lively interest in all that the sailors did, attempting clumsy imitations, but he always returned to her in the end, as though she were his lodestone. He’d wrap an arm around her shoulder, his body offering warmth against the brisk wind, and in those moments everyone else faded out of view, and there was only themselves; only themselves, and the endless, ever-changing sea.

And in the evenings—

They’d chosen expediency over all else, when booking passage, and so they shared a single berth, with little privacy. Frederique had apologized for it, at first, before she’d laughed and let him know better. It was cramped, yes; she had never slept in such conditions before. How could she, as the pampered daughter of the di Parisi family! But that novelty had its own charm, and she treasured the feel of his arms around her as they slept, chaste save for the feelings it inspired in her, the cosiness and nearness of him feeling like a breathless secret. 

Honestly, it was not unlike laying in a pillow fort together, and she told him so, both anticipating and relishing in Frederique’s delighted snort of laughter. 

There was a magical feeling to that journey. As though they had stepped out from beyond the limits of both time and reality itself, and thus escaped into something new. Sometimes, it even felt as though nature itself recognized the overpowering joy spilling out from within them, and sought to match it. Iolanthe knew it would end, that it _must_ , logically, end, and yet at times, the idea of there being anything beyond the masts of the ship and the endless ocean all around them felt equally impossible.

* * *

Impossible as it might have felt, logic prevailed: Albadriech approached—first in the captain’s words to Frederique—next as the first sighting of the port city, little more than a smudge on the horizon—and, finally, as solid earth beneath her feet. It was with mingled excitement and nerves that Iolanthe disembarked from the ship, her hand, as always, looped around her brother’s arm. 

There was very little left to arrange. The captain had assured them that it would be a simple task to find a room at an inn for the night, and in the morning they would embark on a hired carriage towards Eidlebach, where the house whose purchase Frederique’s friend had helped arrange waited for them. 

Soon, very soon, their journey would be over. 

It was strange to think of it. On the sea, it had been as though they’d occupied another world entire, and as for before—

They’d left the palace in such a rush. Only three days stretched between their carriage leaving the palace grounds and the two of them embarking on the ship at Saint Lauritz, and every moment of those days had been spent on a cacophony of secrecy, travel, and planning. How fragile and desperate their freedom had felt! And how equally euphoric, in those days upon the ship! 

Now they stood upon solid ground, and though Iolanthe did not, could not, regret her choices, she also couldn’t deny that everything was beginning to have a sense of finality it did not have before. 

They had really done it, she could not help but think as she looked about the bustling port city. This would really be their life, now—a life they would share together.

Together—together! How sweet a sound that word had!

It was shortly past midday, and the port was wild and colorful with activity. Shouts and snatches of conversation, nearly all of it in Dantchen, flowed past her ears, and in the near distance—

“Look over there; I think there’s a market!” said Frederique, bending his head to her. “We have the whole afternoon to spare—do you want to go see it, after we secure our lodging?”

A question like that could have only one answer, particularly when Iolanthe’s eyes had already locked eagerly on the colorful rows of stalls. “Of course!”

The acquisition of a room was just as easily managed as promised—done under false names, of course, though different ones than those they’d used upon the ship. This they had decided on beforehand: once they reached their new home, they would disguise only their surname, but until then, there was little point in making it easier for their mother to track them down. 

The inn was small, but clean, and more than enough for their needs. It had been Frederique who’d arranged their berth on the ship, but this time it was Iolanthe who stepped forward to arrange their lodging, her Dantchen being better than Frederique’s. It made a strange sense of satisfaction fill her: the sense of being able to utilize the skills she’d worked so hard to learn and actually _be_ useful, in a way she was unaccustomed to. She’d not thought that such a small thing could feel so good, and yet it did. 

Not so long ago, Frederique had called them their family’s pawns, and it occurred to her that he was right. All their lives, they’d been little more than baubles placed upon a shelf for display, forbidden from doing anything truly of use. 

Well, no longer. 

With what little luggage they had thus safely deposited in their room, the two of them made their way back out into the busy streets. Iolanthe felt herself buoyed by an ever-growing excitement as they made their way through the market stalls. She had seen such things before from the windows of a carriage, of course, but that was a far cry from walking through and looking upon the wares herself. So many people there were, and so much to see! 

“I don’t know what half of these things are, but I want to eat everything,” Frederique declared, looking around.

“Well, I don’t know about _everything_ —but I am curious about whatever that is,” she replied, nodding towards a food stall around which several people seemed to be gathered. 

Frederique tapped his chin, putting on an air of mock-solemn contemplation, though it took only seconds before he broke and nodded his agreement with a smile. “It’s certainly a start!”

Whatever “that” was turned out to be some sort of fat steamed dumpling, speared on debarked sticks with a warm, sweet cinnamon sauce poured all over it. It made for messy eating; the sauce dripped everywhere, all over her hands and face, and it was all she could do to keep it from her clothing.

Still, it was absolutely delicious, and Iolanthe ate with relish. When she finished, she looked up to find Frederique was just as much of a mess as she was—and gazing at her with undisguised fondness. 

The former nearly made her snort with laughter; the latter captured and softened those feelings, so that she merely smiled as she said, “Look at the two of us! As bad as children, we are—no, worse!”

Frederique was unchastened. “You say that like being a child is a bad thing,” he retorted, licking the sauce from his fingertips. With an odd thrill, she did the same, savouring both the taste and the knowledge that she could do such a thing without fear of being scolded. 

Frederique dug out a handkerchief. At first Iolanthe thought he meant to use it on himself, but then he leaned over, and her breath caught as he began to clean the rest of the mess from her face. The cloth felt soft against her skin, and the gentleness of his motions made it feel softer still. 

Even when he finished, he didn’t pull back. His handkerchief was replaced with his touch, as he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. All urge to laugh had been set aside; she found herself breathless, caught in her brother’s orbit, as he was in hers. 

“You know what I was thinking, while I watched you eating?” His voice was low and intimate, a sharp contrast to the bustle and noise of the crowds around them. Without waiting for her reply, he went on. “I was thinking about what all I would do or give, if it only meant I could always have you this happy—and then I remembered, I _can_.”

“Frederique…” 

Without quite meaning to, her gaze dropped to his lips. His breath caught, and she knew he’d noticed.

It seemed strange to think, after all that had passed between them, that they had not yet kissed, and yet there it was. 

There was no questioning what they were to one another. They had not spoken the words out loud, not directly, but they both knew what this was and where they were heading. But for all that—though they’d run away together, shared both carriage and berth and slept with his arms around her, in actual act they had not yet transgressed the boundaries of siblings. 

They’d danced on the line, yes. Toyed with it. Certainly in the eyes of proper society, they’d gone too far numerous times already. But for all that, she’d still never known anything more heated than his embrace. 

Iolanthe leaned up, her eyes fluttering closed, and brushed her lips deliberately against his, chaste and brief. 

When she drew back, it was to find Frederique staring down at her, his face more flushed than she’d ever seen it. In his eyes were echoes of the night when she had promised to leave with him, and the sight of it made her own blood pound harshly through her veins. 

She looked away, extending her hand towards him.

“Let’s… We should explore the market further. There’s still so much we haven’t seen yet.”

Frederique made no reply, but she could feel the tremble of his fingertips as he accepted her hand, tucking it against his arm.

* * *

They walked on in silence for a little while. But Frederique’s spirits could never stay repressed long, nor Iolanthe’s, when she was with him, and soon enough the charm of the market overcame them both once more. They flittered from stall to stall, sampling food ‘til they were both near sick from eating, admiring rows upon rows of produce, lingering over wares both local and imported. Iolanthe gasped as she came across a copy of Basque’s _Ancient Buutese Temples and Religion_ in the original language, and Frederique insisted on buying it for her, to her mingled protests and delight. 

She left the stall with the book clutched closely to her chest, unable to repress her smiles. She shouldn’t have allowed it, she knew—they had to learn to keep an eye on their funds, now that they were fending for themselves—but it _had_ been a bargain, and being spoiled by her brother like that… it felt good. 

Was there a limit to such happiness? she wondered. It felt like there ought to be—that no one body could contain so much—yet no such end came, each new undiscovered joy piling upon the other and making her spirits soar more and more, ceaseless and unending. Was this what freedom was?

By the time dark began to fall they had seen the whole of the market and were well on their way back to their lodgings. Dinner was a quiet affair—neither of them had the appetite for much, after how they’d stuffed themselves—and after it had been cleared away, it was just the two of them, alone in their room. 

_Their_ room. They’d reserved only the one—and why not? They’d come to this land _because_ no one would know them as brother and sister here. And there were only so many reasons for a man and woman to travel together, particularly when they referred to themselves with a single surname.

Iolanthe remained at the table, leafing idly through the pages of her new purchase, though she noted little of it. A nervous sort of anticipation filled her. She was too aware of Frederique in the seat across from her and the hush that surrounded them, after weeks of being surrounded by people. 

Frederique seemed as engrossed in his thoughts as she. He slouched in his chair, staring out into the middle distance, his fingers drumming against the table in a distracted beat. Then, with a deep sigh, he gathered himself, and turned to her with a smile. 

“Interesting book, sister?”

“I couldn’t say—I haven’t read a word of it,” she said frankly. 

“Aha! So you were woolgathering, as I was!” Though his words were light and his tone jovial, there was something slightly forced about it, as though he were pushing himself to be his usual self. “It isn’t often that I catch you being inattentive. What were you thinking of?”

“I was thinking about—tomorrow. And what comes after.” 

His fingers fell still.

“So was I,” he admitted, after a moment. He blinked, then forced a return to his smile. “Iolanthe…”

He reached for her. Whether it was consciously done or not, Iolanthe didn’t know, but she met him partway, feeling as though she couldn’t bear a moment more without his touch. Their fingers tangled together, holding each other. 

Again, her thoughts turned to Eidlebach. To the home they would set up together, under a single name.

“We are fortunate, I think,” she said quietly. “We do not look much alike, save for our eyes. That will make it easier.”

He didn't answer straight away. He turned her hand over in his own, running his thumb back and forth over the back of her bare fingers. His eyes seemed fixed on the movement. 

“I bought rings,” he said abruptly. “Just before we left Saint Lauritz. I thought… it would look odd, without them.”

“Can I see them?”

He nodded. She’d expected him to release her hand so that he could head over to his luggage, but instead he fumbled for his pocket with his free hand, before drawing out a pouch. Two silver bands slid out from it, laying between them on the table. 

With the tips of her fingers, she reached out and touched the edge of one. 

“Frederique and Iolanthe Beauchêné,” she murmured. She’d never said their new names out loud before. It felt strange, not fitting in the same way _di Parisi_ always had, and yet she could not help like it too, for the simple fact of it belonging to the two of them and the two of them alone. 

Frederique shivered. 

“Do you want a marriage?” he asked, lifting his eyes to her. His face was flushed. “You deserve as much. I know no one here—no one who could stand as our witnesses—and it still wouldn’t be fully legal, even if I did—but if you wish it, I…”

Iolanthe shook her head. They had danced around directly naming this thing between them for so long, that even the word _marriage_ felt as though it burned the air between them. She felt achingly open, raw and breathless. 

The rings glinted beneath the candlelight. They were very like, the one only slightly larger than the other. She picked it up, and this time it was her turn to flip their clasped hands as she slid the ring over his finger. 

“No,” she said quietly. “This, here, now—this can be wedding enough for me.”

“Minette—”

There was a scrape of wood against wood as he scrambled up from his chair. She rose, meeting him as he rushed around the table to reach her. There was a moment of heady, giddy confusion as he made first to hold her, before recollecting himself and doubling back for the remaining ring, but soon enough it was on her finger, and she in his arms. 

Cupping her face, he kissed her: first a chaste kiss, like the one they’d shared in the marketplace, and then deeper as she pressed herself into his embrace. It was some time before they broke apart, and even then they remained close enough to share the same air, his forehead pressed against hers. 

She wanted him. Fully and completely, she wanted him. She traced his lips with the tips of her fingers, then kissed him again, thrilling in the feel of his warm mouth against hers. His hand stroked down the length of her spine, and even all the layers of cloth separating them couldn’t stop a shiver from rustling over her skin at the touch. 

Frederique drew in a deep breath, as though he meant to steady himself. For a moment, it looked as though he would step away, but a single touch of her hand against his shoulder was enough to halt him in place. 

She felt as though she stood upon a precipice—one where instead of lingering at the edge, she flung herself forward with no thought of regret. 

Quietly, she said, “In Eidlebach we are already meant to be married; why can we not then have our wedding night tonight?”

Frederique looked overwhelmed. He laughed, though it sounded almost like a sob; his eyes were wet. 

“ _Sister_ ,” he said, and then: “My Minette. Are you certain?”

She let out a breathless laugh. What a question! She understood, though; of course she did. 

After this, there truly would be no more chances to turn back. Never again would they be able to slot themselves into the same roles they’d played for each other all their lives. Of course Frederique would be concerned—not for himself, but for her. 

He’d seen the way she’d played the game for the sake of their mother and House; he’d been the one to hold and comfort her when their mother’s scolding reduced her to tears. The sway of duty—or at least guilt—had always had a stronger grasp on her than it had on him, and she was honest with herself: if their mother had left well alone, Iolanthe might well have never have risked taking this step. 

She could see it all-too well: a life spent repressing everything she felt for the sake of keeping things as they’d always been. But afraid of this scandal brewing between them, their mother had attempted to squash it entirely, never understanding that when pressed to choose between duty and her brother, Iolanthe would always, always choose Frederique. 

It seemed obvious enough to Iolanthe, that their mother’s ploy would result in this. But then, their mother had never truly known Iolanthe at all. What had there been left to fear of risk, in the face of losing everything that truly mattered?

In her heart, there’d already been no turning back from the moment she’d stood in that moonlit room with her brother and answered the thought of a life lived without him with a hopeless, helpless, horrified, _no_.

Now, in lieu of an answer, she leaned in and kissed him again, tangling her fingers in the soft waves of his hair. He responded with eagerness, and as they kissed, he walked her back towards the bed. 

But he misjudged the distance; he tripped over the edge of the frame, and so fell rather than sat atop the mattress, pulling her down with him in a clutter of limbs and skirts. For moment they stared at each other, startled; then they both laughed. Iolanthe found that she liked the sight of him like this, splayed out beneath her with his cheeks pinked and eyes bright.

He reached up, tracing the curve of her cheek with his fingertips. Then he traveled further down, stroking first the sensitive skin of her neck, then the exposed part of her chest, just above the neckline of her dress. Iolanthe wondered if he could feel the pounding of her heart, so close to where he touched. 

“My beautiful sister,” he murmured.

Emotion swelled within her, so much that she didn’t know what to do with it all. She wanted so much, and yet—

Overwhelmed, she found herself falling back onto instinct—and started tickling him. He stared at her, wide-eyed in shock, before bursting into a bark of boyish, helpless laughter.

“Enough—enough—!” he cried, grabbing at her hands. She tried to dodge, but he pulled her down to him, peppering her face with kisses, not unlike a dog licking its master. Half-scolding, half-laughing, Iolanthe allowed it, and it wasn’t long before they were kissing in earnest again, hands roaming over each other’s bodies. 

Eagerness made them clumsy as they tried to divest each other of their clothing; buttons and ties which they’d done or seen done a thousand times suddenly becoming insurmountable obstacles. But then they were bare before each other, and Frederique seemed to be everywhere. 

He pressed her down beneath him, mouth trailing kisses all over her body: against her neck, over her breasts, down her stomach; and where his mouth wasn’t, his hands were, as though he wanted to have and touch all of her all at once. Iolanthe wasn’t much better; she scarcely knew what she said or did, only that she wanted more of him—that nothing could ever feel close enough.

And then his hand slipped down between her thighs, and Iolanthe really _couldn’t_ think anymore. She lost herself, to the pleasure and to her brother’s affection and warmth. 

Later, once they were finished, the two of them curled up together. The candles burned low around them; neither had bothered with dressing, the blanket tugged up around their shoulders the only concession to the night’s chill. 

Idly, Frederique played with one of her curls. She caught at his hand, gently tugging it to her so that she could press a kiss to the silver band encircled there. At that, he gave her such a look that she thought he would crush her to him and kiss her again, their mutual exhaustion be damned. Instead, he dropped his hand back to her cheek, threading his fingers into her hair, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“I can’t quite believe that this is all real,” he said after a moment. “That you’re really here, not… I was driving myself mad, those days at the palace, did you know? Always wondering who you favoured—whether it was the prince, or Lady Sofia, or…”

“Surely you knew that I loved you,” she said, astonished, and it was not until after the words were spoken that she realized it was the first time either of them had ever said it aloud.

His grip on her tightened. 

“I did,” he acknowledged. “Or, I suppose I should say that I suspected, when I didn’t fear that I was just allowing my own hopes to run wild and color my understanding. But even when I did believe, I had little hope that anything would ever come of it.”

Iolanthe thought again of their mother’s letter: how near it’d come to destroying everything, and how it’d ultimately given them everything instead. How furious she would be, if only she knew! 

“Nor did I,” she admitted. As she did, she snuggled closer, indulging in the feel of his bare skin against her. “But I am glad that things turned out this way. And I’m looking forward to tomorrow. Regardless of what happens now… as long as we’re together, I know we’ll be happy.”

“Iolanthe…”

He did kiss her, then, a kiss that was slow, lingering, and full of promise. Iolanthe sighed into his mouth, feeling as though she’d never been more happy, or more at peace.


End file.
